Travel

Unlike Spain, France or China, there seems to be no national physical “type” in Belgium. Notions of Hercule Poirot vanish when presented with varietal faces that range from pale Flemish damsels to the deep dark shades of Congo ancestry. Of course, the presence of tourists confuse the whole mess, turning the tiny city of Brussels…

“Bath?” exclaimed the bulbous figure behind the glass at Paddington Station. “Why would you want to go to Bath?” There was no mistaking his tone: we were about to embark on a pointless day trip. Suppressing my mounting embarrassment, I pursued his innuendo in an attempt to gauge the extent of our folly. He blew me…